


Aphonia

by PickledDeath



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Minor John Egbert/Dave Strider
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-02
Updated: 2013-07-02
Packaged: 2017-12-17 11:45:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/867166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PickledDeath/pseuds/PickledDeath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dave is badly injured after a fight with a kid at school. It means his whole life has to change, but at least his relationship with his online friends doesn't have too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aphonia

**Author's Note:**

  * For [VergofTowels](https://archiveofourown.org/users/VergofTowels/gifts).



> Original Prompt: Dave/sprite is suffering from a chronic (or at least long) illness or injury but maybe doesn't realize how bad it is and is trying to hide it from whoever. Doesn't have to be a serious illness, I just love Dave/sprite feeling run down for long periods of time.

\-  ectoBiologist [EB] \- began pestering -  turntechGodhead [TT] -

EB: dave.   
EB: i’m going to ask you one last time.   
EB: please don’t do this stupid thing you’re going to do.   
TG: sorry egbert   
TG: but your heartfelt pleas are falling on deaf ears   
TG: literally my ears are incapable of hearing your girly whining   
TG: this is only going to be one of the most fulfilling moments of my life   
TG: i am going to smear that clowny motherfucker all over the pavement   
EB: dave, this is really stupid.   
EB: fighting is really stupid.   
EB: someone’s going to get hurt and somebody’s going to get in trouble.   
EB: i just don’t see any way of this ending well.   
TG: well then allow me to enlighten you   
TG: this calliborn motherfucker is going to get his ass beat by my awesome self   
TG: he will then go crying home to his assumedly fat cow of a mother   
TG: who will slap him across the face and tell him to stop being such a pussy   
TG: and you can go back to frollicking about in mustaches   
TG: or whatever it is you do when youre not worrying about everything that ever happens ever   
EB: c’mon, dave!   
EB: for me, will you just stay home?   
EB: and ignore this dope?   
TG: sorry   
TG: thats a no can do little buddy   
TG: ill pester you after the fight and let you know how well it went   
TG: just do me a favor and dont wear yourself out in the mean time   
EB: dave   
TG: john   
EB: . . . . .   
TG: im going   
EB: dave!   
TG: bye   
EB: dave, please!

\-  turntechGodhead [TG] is now offline.

John Egbert stared at the blinking message on his screen telling him that Dave had left in abject horror. He didn’t fully understand why, but he was filled with a foreboding feeling for his best friend Dave. Ever since Dave had told him that he had agreed to fight one of the kids at his school John’s stomach had been doing backflips.

John had seen fights at his high school and they weren’t anything to shake a stick at. More often than not the fights were over before they even started with little more than some stretched out t-shirts to show for it. But, John knew that Dave was stronger than any of the kids at his school. He was worried that something horrible would happen and that Dave would get in huge trouble. Or, at least, that’s what he kept telling himself. His stomach kept seemed insistent on worrying about something else.

John just kept telling himself that Dave was strong. Dave wouldn’t get hurt by some bully in a back alley. Dave was fearless and capable and totally able to take care of himself. Somewhere inside himself John knew that he didn’t have to worry. But, that didn’t make it any easier to stop.

* * *

Dave Strider stared up at the unfamiliar ceiling above him with a feeling of numbness. There were harsh fluorescent lights shining down into his face from a drop ceiling that had definitely seen better days. Dave’s head swam. He didn’t recognize the ceiling nor the strange bustling ambient noise around him.

The last thing he remembered was leaving his apartment and making his way to the nearby park two blocks down. He was going to meet that Calliborn kid that wouldn’t shut up about him being albino in school. He was going to kick his ass. So why was he lying in an unfamiliar bed staring at an unfamiliar ceiling?

Struggling, Dave tried to sit up. An insanely powerful pain shot all through his body like a lightning bolt. Dave gasped and yelled out in pain. Or, at least, he thought he yelled. He didn’t hear his own yell through the hurt and his own daze.

Still numb and confused Dave lifted his right arm up into his field of vision. At least three different tubes were running from bags hanging beside the bed and into the back of his hand and the inside of his elbow. The skin around where the needles rested in his arm looked dark and bruised under the white bandages.

Dave’s hand was shaking as he laid it back down on the thin blanket that was draped over him. He was in a hospital. And, judging by the dull throbbing that seemed to follow every breath he took, he was beat up pretty bad.

Whirring machines were beeping quietly to the left of him and the lights were dimmed (though still bright enough to feel blinding). There were no windows facing the outdoors in his room, but there was a large window with venetian blinds that he could just barely see across from the bottom of his bed. The blinds were drawn, but he could see bright artificial light leaking through from the other side.

Dave took a deep breath and even that somehow burned the whole way from his mouth to his lungs. He could taste stale blood and something that tasted like a blend of soap and peroxide. Dave tried his best to remember what had happened; what had landed him in the hospital.

He was going to the park where he was supposed to fight Calliborn. Did he get hit by a car? Did something fall on him? Was he jumped?

None of those things felt right.

Dave was rather sure that he got to the park and that he found Calliborn. Hadn’t he?

He saw him, he could have swore he did. But everything was so blurry and his thinking felt much slower and fogged than it did previously.

It scared him.

Dave spent a long few minutes clenching and unclenching his fist as he struggled to fight down the panic in his chest and to grasp the wavery memory of what happened before he ended up in a hospital bed. As he lay there he eventually saw the light from the hall pour in as somebody slipped through the door and ghosted to his bedside.

Bro froze when he saw Dave’s open eyes staring at him through the limpid darkness in the room.

“Hey,” Bro said quietly setting the cup of what Dave assumed was bad coffee from the smell of it on a bedside table taking a nearby seat.

Dave tried to turn his head toward his bro, but the pain came back full force and he had to grimace under the assault.

When he opened his eyes, Bro had silently moved from the chair to take a seat on the edge of the bed, easily within Dave’s range of sight.

“How are you feeling?” he asked gently.

“Not good,” Dave replied around the pain in his throat. Or, at least, he tried to reply.

Dave tried clearing his throat, ignoring the fresh rush of pain it caused, and tried to speak again. He tried speaking louder. He tried screaming.

But, the only sound that came out of his mouth was a harsh exhalation of breath.

“Shit,” Bro whispered.

Dave couldn’t see his eyes behind his pointed shades, but everything about Bro’s body screamed worry and tenseness.

“Dave, just stay here. Rest. I’ll be right back,” Bro said, momentarily resting his hand on Dave’s shoulder before disappearing back into the hall.

Dave laid there with the smell of burnt coffee slowly filling the room and turning his stomach. Something was wrong.

* * *

Three hours later, Dave was informed by the doctors what was wrong with him.

Dave’s bed had been raised so he could lay in an almost sitting position with Bro a quiet sentry to his right while the small attractive girl that was his doctor explained that he had Aphonia. Aphonia, he was told, was a word that means an inability to produce voice.

During the attack (‘What attack?’ Dave thought, ‘Was this during the fight or did the little fucker jump me?’), his recurrent laryngeal nerve (which was a fancy word for the nerve that controls his vocal chords) had been cut bilaterally. He had suffered impressive damage to a large area of his throat and had already been through surgery to correct it. But, they had not seen the damage to the nerves until just now when Bro alerted them. And, the lapse of three days (Dave couldn’t believe that three days had passed while he laid unconscious) between the damage being done and now meant that the likelihood that they could repair the damage was slim.

Bro’s fingers were like iron bands on Dave’s arm. The strength of Bro’s grip on his arm caused an ache to spread through him, but he didn’t have the heart to try and shake him off. The feeling of Bro’s touch grounded him as he tried to accept the fact that this soft voiced young woman was telling him that he was mute. And, it was likely he would remain mute.

The doctor apologized a lot and seemed sincerely compassionate about their situation. Dave was sure that the two of them (Bro and himself sitting like stone statues amongst all the medical equipment) were a sad sight. He wanted to tell her that she needn’t bother, but he couldn’t. He would never be able to tell anyone anything the way he had before.

* * *

Dave underwent one more surgery before they released him from the hospital. The kind female doctor whose name he couldn’t remember told him afterwards that the damage was severe, but that they wouldn’t give up.

Dave already had.

Bro, thankfully, explained to Dave what he knew of the attack before the investigators came. His understanding was that as soon as Dave had entered the park Calliborn had indeed jumped him from behind and stabbed him multiple times in the throat. The cowardly little idiot had been too dumb to draw the blade across the front of his throat and had instead made three puncture wounds with the short blade before running off. They still hadn’t found him.

Miraculously, Calliborn had missed his arteries, but had badly damaged his esophagus and trachea. Eating and breathing would be difficult for a long time before he recovered. He was coming to understand that breathing may be difficult period, without the laryngeal nerve that previously allowed him to produce sound.

The detectives that came to talk to him in the hospital were patient and kind. Dave had to painstakingly write out all of his responses on a piece of paper with weakened fingers. They told him that Calliborn had a history of violence and emotional problems. They told him that they still hadn’t found him, but that they didn’t think it would be long before they did. They had Dave sign the paper he had wrote his responses on and left shortly after.

Dave was as weak and shaky as a newborn giraffe when he got home. It didn’t help that Bro was actually considerate and caring towards him the entire time. As if he didn’t feel enough like an invalid.

Dave was home for three days before he finally got up nerve to look in a mirror. He had talked to friends before who had been in car accidents and had cried for days after looking at their faces in the mirror afterward. So, he had done his best to avoid his own reflection ever since he woke up in the hospital.

What Dave saw in the mirror didn’t make him cry, but it did make how close he came to death suddenly real to him.

There were three huge thick lines in the middle of his throat above his adam’s apple. They were an angry dark purple and held together with thick black thread. His flesh was growing out around the stitches and just looking at the wounds made him wince. Bisecting the bottom edge of the three entry wounds was the perfect precision of the incision the surgeon had made when they went in to repair his throat. Both surgeries had used the same incision. Those stitches were much newer and the skin around it much redder and surrounded by red splotches. It hadn’t yet gathered the old blood and bruising of the wounds Calliborn had left.

Dave also had smaller knicks around the tip of his chin and a deep ugly cut on the side of his neck by his hairline. They were the proof that he struggled and he was glad to wear them, even if he couldn’t easily hide them behind pure white bandages.

* * *

Dave was able to avoid his computer for a few days before he couldn’t take the boredom any more. 

As soon as he logged in his computer signed him into pesterchum and his screen exploded with frantic chat logs from his online friends.

Dave quickly closed out of the logs, but not before he read a few lines of blue text.

Dave felt his throat work as he welled up with emotion. Grimacing, he clamped a hand over the front of his neck as the soft newly damaged flesh ached at the exertion.

For a long moment, Dave considered trying to do something else. To read one of his favorite webcomics, some of which surely must have updated by now. Or, maybe just to browse some blogs or float around on newgrounds or something. He even considered just turning off his computer and leaving it until he was ready to deal with everything.

But, when Dave glanced back up at his screen, John’s chat window was already flashing in his taskbar. With a silent cuss, Dave realized he had forgotten to go offline after pesterchum logged him in. John already knew he was online. He would be climbing the douchebag echeladder by leaps and bounds if he ignored him at that point.

With his hands only shaking a little Dave clicked on John’s window and brought his chat log back up.

EB: dave, please please please answer me!   
EB: i would call the police if i had any kind of idea where you live.   
EB: dave, please call me, text me, anything!   
EB: dave.

\-  turntechGodhead [TG] is now online. -

EB: dave!   
EB: oh, my god! dave, are you online?   
EB: hello?   
EB: dave, are you there?   
TG: im here   
EB: i’ve never been more happy to see red text!   
EB: dave, are you okay?   
EB: where were you?   
EB: you haven’t been online for over a week!   
EB: i thought you were in really serious trouble.   
EB: what happened?   
EB: something happened, didn’t it?   
TG: nothing happened egbert   
EB: what do you mean, nothing happened?   
EB: why were you offline for so long?   
TG: i was just busy   
TG: it happens   
EB: it’s never happened before.   
EB: what the hell, dave, i was really worried!   
EB: why can’t you just tell me what happened?   
TG: because nothing happened egderp   
EB: that’s crap and you know it!   
EB: listen, if you can’t tell me, you can at least just tell me you can’t tell me.   
EB: dave.   
TG: if i tell you i cant tell you will you calm the fuck down   
EB: no, not really.   
EB: but, it would make me feel alot better than you lying to me.   
TG: then i can’t tell you   
EB: why not?   
TG: because i dont want to talk about it   
TG: but im fine egbert   
TG: you dont have anything to worry about

* * *

John Egbert stayed glued to his computer for the remainder of that Sunday.

He talked to Dave about just about anything he could think of. He sent him youtube videos, funny cat pictures, and talked about movies he had already talked to Dave about before. Dave seemed happy to hear about anything and slowly cheered up by the time the sun went down outside John’s window.

It was a long time before Dave finally told John that he had to sign off. John only let him do so after extracting a promise that they would talk again the next day.

It was late. John had missed dinner. But, he thought his Dad might still be awake so John went down the stairs with shaky knees and wandered into the kitchen. His dad was seated comfortably at the dinner table with his pipe in his mouth and a newspaper folded out in front of him.

When John walked in his dad smiled at him taking his pipe of his mouth to say, “Finally got hungry, huh?” and standing and going to the oven. He pulled out a covered plate that John recognized as his dinner with a pang of guilt.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come down for dinner, Dad. But, my friend finally came back online! Remember, the one I told you about?” John said urgently, hoping he could get across to his dad how important it was that he stay and talk to Dave as long as he could.

Dad bobbed his head in understanding as he placed the plate and a tall glass of water on the table in front of the seat that was traditionally John’s.

John took the seat and started to tuck in, suddenly realizing how hungry he was. “Dave was going to go fight some kid and then just disappeared for, like, ten days,” John explained between mouthfuls. “And, that’s not like him at all! Dave is always online.”

“Perhaps he was just embarrassed that the fight didn’t progress the way he had expected,” his dad said gently as he placed the pipe back between his teeth and took a puff.

John wilted a little bit at that. He supposed that was the rational assumption and would have been believable enough from Dave. But, John still felt that this wasn’t what Dave was hiding from him. John didn’t feel it was worth trying to convince his dad that this wasn’t the case.

“I’m just really glad that he’s okay,” John muttered into his mashed potatoes.

John’s dad’s smile was warm around as his pipe as he regarded his son.

“I am too,” he said solemnly as he went back to his paper.

* * *

It was three months later and Dave was sitting in the office of the kind female doctor ( whose name he could now remender as Doctor Sanjita ) with Bro beside him.

His neck and throat were almost completely healed. Some ropy pink scars on his neck were the only remaining indication of what had happened to him. He still got the occasional ache, but in all other regards he was back to his old self. With the exception of his voice.

Dave had only had a month left of school when the attack happened, so the school had let him finish out his year and all of his teachers had okayed him out of their classes with passing marks. He would be going back to school in another month, depending on what Doctor Sanjita had to say to him.

Dave had guessed (and had done so correctly) that she was going to suggest an expensive and cutting edge third surgery to attempt to reattach his damaged and now stunted nerves.

Doctor Sanjita was launching into the explanation of how little data they really have on the likelihood of success of this kind of surgery. On how good of a candidate Dave was for the surgery and how much of a good option she thought it was.

Dave wasn’t sure why he had been asked to attend. He had already decided he didn’t want the surgery.

He had already admitted to himself that he didn’t talk that much in the first place, so losing his voice wasn’t such a big deal. Or, at least, that’s what he had been telling himself. He was a fast texter and had gotten used to typing out his responses on his phone and communicating with Bro and the doctors and nurses he regularly dealt with that way. He was feeling much better, he had finally finished his rehabilitation, and wasn’t looking forward to more pain, more scars, and more down time.

Not to mention that Dave wasn’t unaware of Bro’s financial situation. Bro had always brought in more than enough money before. But, since Dave had been in the hospital, things had begun to slowly disappear from the apartment. Old expensive video games, large swathes of shitty swords, and even a number of puppets had gone missing.

Dave couldn’t imagine that with Bro’s choice in occupation that himself or Bro had health insurance. He also couldn’t imagine what two surgeries and almost a week in the hospital cost. But, he was sure it was a lot.

Dave didn’t doubt that Bro would pay for any medical care that he required, but that didn’t mean that he wanted his brother to continue to sink his money into risky untested procedures on a brother who had given up on success.

Dave started to tap away at his phone while Doctor Sanjita continued to talk, now detailing some successful cases in the past. Dave read over what he wrote twice before pushing his phone across the conference table in front of Bro.

its not worth it bro  
theres no reason to believe this operation will work  
and the cost is just going to rape your well worn asshole more  
im fine as i am right now  
maybe i can try the surgery later  
im not looking forward to being anyones guinea pig

Bro stared at the fine type on Dave’s cell phone for a long time, long enough for Doctor Sanjita to notice and go silent. After he seemed to absorb what was written on the screen, Bro turned to give Dave a searching look and Dave returned it steadily.

“Are you sure?” Bro asked.

Dave gave him a solemn nod. The two brothers continued to stare at each other for a moment before Bro turned back to the doctor.

“Thank you very much, Ma’am,” Bro said, standing and offering his hand. Dave stood up with him and Doctor Sanjita took Bro’s calloused palm with a broken hearted expression. “I’m afraid we’ll have to turn down the offer, for now. But, we appreciate all your hard work for Dave.”

“I see,” she murmured with an expression not unlike a kicked puppy. “I hope that you’ll reconsider. But, I understand.”

On the ride home, Bro stopped off at a Taco Bell and ordered them both a Grande meal. He plopped the soggy cardboard box of soft shell tacos into Dave’s lap with a lopsided grin. They used to talk in the car, but even Bro couldn’t read while driving and Dave had yet to deign to use any of the various voice programs available online. So the ride home was silent.

But, the air outside was warm and toasty and Dave had the window down so that the air could ruffle through his colorless hair and cool his exposed arms and neck. The smell of cheap tasty meat wafted through the car along with the soft beat of an overplayed pop song on the radio.

“Dave,” Bro said over the sound of the wind and the music. Dave glanced across the car at his older brother, waiting for whatever he would be forced to sit silently through. “Maybe we can’t afford that surgery,” Bro continued. “But, don’t give up.”

Dave nodded quickly and faced back out the window. His cheeks felt hot and his throat was working again. He didn’t have to worry about making any embarrassing sounds, but the roaring of the wind in his ears still comforted him.

* * *

John piled a kitchen plate high with fruit gushers, fruit by the foot, and just about everything in the kitchen he could find that professed to be, but wasn’t actually fruit. His dad hovered behind him, periodically offering carefully iced pastries which John cautiously defended against. Eventually, with one hand filled with the plate and the other with a tall glass of terrible-for-you cola John was able to abscond back up to his room and his computer.

That night was the night that he would finally get to talk to Dave face to face. John had finally talked his dad into getting him a webcam. He didn’t admit that he really just wanted to chat with Dave, Rose, and Jade. But, he did promise his dad that he wouldn’t use it with anyone he didn’t know (and he knew Dave, for sure)!

John knew that Dave had a webcam, because they had video chatted before. Rose and Dave both had webcams and John and Jade were able to talk them both into using them at least once or twice so that they could see and hear what their friends were like. Ever since then John had wanted a webcam so that he could return the favor. Jade had said she had ordered one, but wherever she lived it would take awhile for it to come. John, luckily, just had to beg enough during a trip to Target to return with a small cardboard and plastic box with a cheap webcam.

As John sat down in his wobbly computer chair he brought up pesterchum and was glad to see Dave’s chumhandle listed (as it perpetually was) under his online chums. John fumbled to clip the little camera to the top of his monitor before leaning down to plug the USB cable into the front of his computer and go back to pesterchum. After a few seconds of thinking, the computer picked up and installed the camera and a little webcam icon appeared next to his name on Pesterchum.

Excited, John double clicked on Dave’s chumhandle and began typing.

\-  ectoBiologist [EB] began pestering  turntechGodhead [TG] -

EB: dave, guess what?   
TG: you got a webcam   
EB: aw, dave! you’re supposed to ask me what and i’m supposed to ask you to guess.   
TG: you want me to video chat with you   
EB: dave, you’re ruining my cagey approach!   
EB: i had this whole progression and reveal i wanted to do!   
TG: dude i can see the webcam icon   
EB: you ruin things, dave.   
EB: you ruined all the surprises.   
TG: egbert i am not video chatting with you   
EB: why not?!   
TG: because no   
EB: but, daaaaaaaave!   
EB: you did it before!   
TG: that was before i got wise to your tricks egderp   
EB: dave, i am going to cry.   
TG: no you arent   
EB: yes, i am dave.   
EB: i am going to go cry to my dad and tell him how cold you are to me.   
EB: and he is going to tell me that i shouldn’t talk to strangers on the internet.   
EB: and that you’re probably some overweight pedophile   
EB: and take away my webcam forever   
EB: and i’ll never even get to see all the inappropriate penis’ on chatroulette   
TG: wow   
TG: i am not fat   
EB: prove it, dave! prove to me you are not fat!   
TG: i already did   
TG: i already did the video chat thing   
TG: the video chat thing is old hat   
TG: the video chat thing is over   
TG: so   
TG: over   
EB: dave.   
EB: *pout*   
TG: okay no really   
EB: *poooooooout*   
TG: john dont do this roleplay shit   
EB: *pouting so hard over here*   
TG: youre ridiculous   
EB: *pout pout pout pout*

Dave leaned back in his chair and scrubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands.

He really didn’t want to do the video chat thing with John. His webcam still worked fine, but he had disabled it ever since the whole ‘fuck guess I’m mute now’ thing. Dave knew that his scars were becoming faded and that if he kept his head down chances were that John would never notice them. He also knew that he could just lie and say that his mic was broken and that was why he couldn’t talk to him too.

Dave also knew that it was pretty shitty of him to lie to one of his best friends about something so important. Selfishly, Dave had been hoarding his internet friends. Everyone in his life so far knew about what happened and they treated him differently because of it. No matter where he went or who he saw he was reminded of what had happened. Dave had wanted someone and somewhere he could go where the fact that he couldn’t speak wouldn’t have to be a thing. But, in his heart of hearts, Dave knew that wasn’t fair to John, or to Rose, or Jade. It had been months and Dave was past feeling justified in being selfish and moving steadily into feeling like an asshole for lying to his friends.

John’s bright blue text looked back at Dave from his computer screen. Sighing, Dave returned his hand to his mouse and went to his settings to enable his webcam and mic. Almost immediately Pesterchum picked up on the new peripherals and popped a webcam icon next to his name.

EB: yay!   
EB: dave, you are the best.

Dave’s Pesterchum window flashed twice with John’s rapid fire responses before a new window popped up with John’s goofy smiling face rendered in pixelated goodness. Dave had never seen John before (live, anyway) so it was a bit of a shock. John’s room was bright behind him; all pale blues, whites, and beiges. Dave could see the edge of a bed and a trunk behind him. John himself had a round face pale face (Washington must be an awfully sun starved state) with a short upturned nose and a small pouty mouth. He had big square black glasses but Dave was pretty sure he saw a flash of blue behind the thick lenses and unruly black hair that seemed to stick everywhere with little regard for a comb or gravity.

“Hi, Dave!” John chirped through Dave’s speakers. “I like what you did with your hair.”

Self consciously Dave ran a hand over his hair which he had cut relatively short (for him). He had done it because during physical therapy it had exhausted him to wash his hair and short hair was so much cooler (temperature wise) and easier to maintain. It was starting to grow out, but he had completely forgotten about it.

Turning back to the keyboard, Dave typed out a brusque thanks.

“Hm? Doesn’t your mic work?” John asked curiously. Dave could track John’s eyes as they scanned up to look at the volume icon beside Dave’s name indicating he had a mic.

Resolutely, Dave turned back to their chat log.

TG: so   
TG: i maybe have some big news that i was possibly   
TG: totally remiss in not telling you

Dave did his best not to look up at John’s face on his computer screen though he could see through his eyelashes John’s dark brows drawing down over his eyes.

TG: that time that i went to go fight that kid from school   
TG: and disappeared for a week   
TG: it was because i was in the hospital   
TG: i was in the hospital because they were trying to fix my voice   
TG: which they didnt   
TG: so im kind of mute   
TG: that’s a thing

Dave tried not too, but couldn’t stop himself from watching John’s confused expression turn to one of horror as he read over Dave’s text once, twice, three times.

John cleared his throat before he looked back at his computer screen and croaked, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Swallowing, Dave looked down at his hands as he typed up his response.

TG: because i didnt want you to be upset   
TG: because there are huge parts of my life that are totally different now   
TG: and this didnt have to be   
TG: and if it didnt have to be then i didnt want it to be   
TG: but thats not fair to you   
TG: or to rose or jade   
TG: so i guess im kind of a dick   
TG: for not telling you guys

Dave didn’t try to stop himself from watching John’s reaction even though it made him feel like the softest untouched parts of his insides were being scooped out with a rusty spoon.

John’s face got very close to the screen as he read Dave’s response painstakingly, over and over. After a moment he sat back and knocked his glasses up onto his forehead as he rubbed at his eyes. Then, went back to staring at the screen.

Finally, he looked back up at where Dave assumed the window with his video feed was.

“Dave, you’re not a dick. I understand. Thank you for telling me.” Here John stopped, sniffed, and rubbed at his eyes again. “I didn’t mean to push you into this.”

TG: i needed a push

“I know! I mean, I don’t know! I mean, I really did want you to tell me and would have wanted you to tell me. If I knew! But, I guess, if I knew I wouldn’t have pushed you to tell me because I already knew.”

John sniffled and Dave heard it, a sad rough sound through his computer speakers.

TG: john   
TG: im really sorry i didnt tell you   
TG: you deserved to know

“Thanks, Dave,” John said quietly. “Are you okay?”

TG: are you

John laughed, but the sound was a little bitter. “I’ll be okay.”

TG: good   
TG: so will i

**Author's Note:**

> Aphonia is the inability to produce voice. It is considered more severe than dysphonia. A primary cause of aphonia is bilateral disruption of the recurrent laryngeal nerve, which supplies nearly all the muscles in the larynx. Damage to the nerve may be the result of surgery (e.g., thyroidectomy) or a tumor.  
> Aphonia means "no sound." In other words, a person with this disorder has lost his/her voice.


End file.
